


What We've Built For Ourselves

by angvlicmish



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Asexual Castiel, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 19:18:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20476205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angvlicmish/pseuds/angvlicmish
Summary: To keep the peace, Castiel Novak is to be wedded to second-born son Dean Winchester, prince of the neighbouring kingdom and a man that he has only met briefly a long time ago. Terrified, Castiel has no choice but to endure whatever is to come from this marriage to ensure the safety of his own family. Little does he know, is that throughout the years ahead of him he'll find in this kingdom not anything to be terrified of but instead everything he's ever wanted.





	What We've Built For Ourselves

**Author's Note:**

> I usually don't say things like this, but this is probably one of my favourite pieces I've ever written and I'm really proud of how it turned out since I've been wanting to write it for a long time now, so I really hope you enjoy!
> 
> Content Warning: Castiel is a sex repulsed ace and in the first part of this story attempts to force himself to consummate his marriage with Dean. He doesn't go through with it and of course, Dean is super kind about it but I thought I'd mention this here as it is distressing for Castiel and may be triggering to some.

**First Twelve Moons **

Castiel’s fingers tremble as they brush over his jerkin, flattening the non-existent creases from the fabric. He tries to keep his breathing calm, not wanting the two servants still attending to the last of his attire to notice how terrified he feels. 

There’s an abrupt knock on the door, a servant answering swiftly before both his mother and father are sweeping into the room. The servants attend to the last few touch ups before bowing and excusing themselves. 

“Finally,” his mother says, stalking over until she’s standing in front of him. She eyes him up and down multiple times before nodding, thankfully approving of his wear. “How are you feeling?”

It’s almost laughable. Such a simple question that expects such a simple answer – a good, a fine, a fantastic. But it’s not so simple. Castiel’s not sure how others do it. Prepare to get married off into another family, into another castle, into a strange man’s arms to live with until their dying breath. 

How else is he supposed to feel other than terrified?

At least the Winchester castle, the very castle he’s standing in as of now, is not far from his family’s. At least he’s not being married across the seas. Thank the gods for that.

And from what he’s heard, the Winchester’s are fine people. The eldest, he hears, Adam – already having wedded a beautiful wife, Ofelia, and expecting a baby anytime soon – has created quite an impression on their people. But that the middle child, Dean Winchester is cut from the finest cloth of the land. 

But Castiel’s only met him once. And never known anyone that’s had a close relationship with the man. He appeared charming and kind when they had met, the man two years his elder, when his family travelled here to ultimately sign him away for good. But that could all be a false act.

He could be cruel. He could be rude. He could be anything. 

And then there’s the matter of…reciprocation. Is he to force himself to endure for the rest of his life? What if Dean demands more of him than he can give? What if Castiel tells him the truth and he lashes out?

If only he wasn’t being married off to the neighbouring kingdom to solidifying alliances. 

If only he wasn’t the youngest in his family. 

“Good,” Castiel says.

His mother nods, raising her hand to tuck a stray hair behind his ear. He can see it in her eyes. The slight fear. Because no matter how high the praises are sung of this man he is to be wedded to, no one can know what he’s like behind closed doors.

But she can’t say anything either. She tried. He knows she did, although she will never speak of it aloud. 

He must do this for their kingdom. Something his father had been brewing for a long while now, ever since the previous alliance with the Winchester’s was shaken. If this falls to shambles, the alliance could be shattered forever and the Winchester’s have always held more power than his own family. It all truly rests on his shoulders now. And he will do his best. Even if he resents his father for it every day. Not that he ever had the closest relationship with his father, being the youngest and seemingly the one forgotten the most. Or at least he had hoped he was the one forgotten.

“Now, remember. Everyone will be watching,” his father speaks, eyes piercing through him. “Don’t make a scene. Everything must be perfect.”

“And it will be. Do not doubt your son. He knows what to do.” Castiel sends his mother a small smile, although the anxiety creeps higher in his chest. He knows she’s only trying to stand up for him. But he needs no more pressure to be placed upon his shoulders at this point. 

His father nods. “Good. Then, you must go. I’ll escort Castiel and the ceremony will be underway.” His mother smiles, placing a small kiss on his cheek. 

“You’ll be okay, my son,” she whispers. “You’re braver than you think.” 

Castiel feels a slight swell of emotion inside of him. “I’ll see you soon, mother.” And then she is out the door, leaving him with his father.

Castiel takes in a deep breath. 

Nevertheless, he is still terrified. 

✧ ✧ ✧

His fingers won’t stop trembling, no matter how many times he clenches his fists and forces them to stop. There are more people in the great hall than he imagined. Although he tries to focus on not tripping over his own feet on his way to his soon to be husband rather than the faces scrutinising every inch of him. 

His father gives him a hard look as he hands him off, before taking a seat beside his mother. 

Castiel’s breathing is rough and he hasn’t even glanced up at his betrothed when hands entwine with his own. His first reaction is to snatch them away, embarrassed that he will feel Castiel’s trembling but his hands are held tight.

The officiant has already begun his ramblings when Castiel finally looks up. 

Dean Winchester is just as charming and beautiful as he remembered. He has a small smile on his lips, the red and gold of his jerkin somehow bringing out the gorgeous green of his eyes. 

And yet there’s something there he hasn’t seen before. A trace of hesitation. 

Perhaps Dean Winchester is just as nervous as he. Well, most likely not _as_ nervous but somewhat at least. 

It relieves his own nerves a little. Perhaps Dean Winchester is just like him. Shouldering the burden of their two kingdoms. With it on his mind, the ceremony goes by quicker and smoother than he hoped. He doesn’t stumble over any of his lines, nor does he fumble with the ring that he places on Dean’s finger. He even manages to not let his knees buckle out beneath him with all of the people watching. 

When they are finally wedded and told to seal it with a kiss, Castiel succeeds in leaning forward to meet Dean in the middle, exchanging a chaste kiss without anything embarrassing occurring. 

The first day of their first twelve moons together. The first of many.

The applause is ear shattering but it’s over. Thank the gods it’s over.

And yet, for Castiel, this isn’t even the most terrifying part of the evening. That is yet to come.

✧ ✧ ✧

The feast goes off without a hitch, although Castiel finds his mind wandering through most of it, barely paying attention to any of the mumblings of the royals and nobles offering their congratulations and gifts. He even almost misses a few things Dean says – but thankfully, it’s all small talk. Nothing he truly has to think too hard about.

When there’s call for dancing, Castiel’s heart spikes once more. Dean takes his hand and leads him to the floor as the musicians begin to play behind them. He’s pulled in close, one hand resting lightly on his lower back, the other clutching his own. 

And honestly if it wasn’t for Dean, he would collapse to the ground.

At least there won’t be any small talk. 

That is of course until Dean starts speaking. 

“You’re taller than I remember. Still growing I see. Although I hope you won’t continue. I’d rather not be the shortest of the men in my family.”

Castiel opens his mouth, honestly not knowing how to respond. “Oh, Your Highness, I…”

Castiel can feel the curve of a smile against his cheek. “You don’t have to call me Your Highness, you know. You are my equal now.”

Castiel’s cheeks redden. “Oh. My apologies, Your--- Dean.”

Another smile.

“Do you enjoy dancing?”

Castiel flicks his eyes around the hall. “Not with so many people watching.”

“That’s alright. We don’t have to stay out here too long.”

With his words, the anxiety catches him again. Because soon they won’t be here at all. They’ll be in their new chambers, onto consummating their marriage.

Castiel swallows. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”

Dean nods against him. “No need to thank me. Whatever my husband wishes.”

Castiel finds the eyes of his father across the room. For the alliance. For the kingdom. For his family.

He’ll endure it. Surely, it won’t be so hard.

✧ ✧ ✧

He wishes he’d had more to drink. Maybe that would have been better. For right now, the only thing he can feel is the thumping of his heart and the terror in his gut. The ring on his finger – so beautiful and intricately designed – is suddenly far too tight. 

The night has ended for everyone else, the wedding over. 

But his palms are sweaty as he stands in their new chambers, watching as Dean clicks the door shut. 

He knows Dean’s had a few drinks. He’s slightly flushed, top laces of his jerkin already undone. He stares at Castiel, mouth opening and closing before he says anything.

“Did you want another drink?” 

Castiel swallows before shaking his head. “No, I’m quite alright, thank you.”

Dean nods, mostly to himself before he walks forward. 

And he’s beautiful. Probably one of the most beautiful men Castiel’s ever seen. There’s been far too much on his mind to really notice but it’s true. His hair is a little wild, tan skin peeking from under his collar and his figure is fit and strong.

And it’s enough. It’s enough. At least it should be. Shouldn’t it?

Dean huffs a small laugh as he comes to stand in front of him. “I’m usually much better at this part, I promi--”

Castiel surges forward and kisses him hard, enough that Dean takes a step back before steadying himself. And that’s enough said, apparently, for Dean’s hands are on him then, smoothing up his back and pulling him in until their flush together. 

And it’s fine. Castiel finds that he likes Dean’s lips. Likes Dean’s kiss. Even the hands spreading over his back are nice. Reassuring. And something settles inside of him. This isn’t so hard. Perhaps he just tried it with the wrong people.

It’s even endearing when Dean pulls away to awkwardly pull off his boots.

But then it hits him that he’s also supposed to take off his boots. And then his jerkin and doublet. And then everything else. 

The panic rises but he forces it down, pulling off his own boots and plastering on a hopefully happy face when Dean looks at him. It appears to work for Dean smiles, pressing closer until he’s guiding Castiel backwards towards the bed.

His knees hit the edge and he sits down – and Castiel’s actually thankful for he’s not sure how long his legs would have been able to hold him steady.

Dean swoops back down to kiss him, hands this time wandering to the laces of Castiel’s jerkin. Castiel’s breaths are heavy when they part but not because of the kiss. Although thankfully, because of Dean’s own heavy panting, the man doesn’t notice.

“Shit, sorry,” Dean breathes, as he struggles to unlace them. Castiel forces a small smile.

“It’s okay,” he breathes back, not trusting his voice to not wobble as he raises his own hands to guide Dean’s away. 

Not that he is any quicker at unlacing the damn thing but at least his hands are occupied and now that Dean’s undoing his own jerkin, Dean’s are too.

He peers up under his eyelashes, watching as Dean finally shrugs his off and quickly disposes of his doublet after, leaving only tan, muscled skin before him and gods, he’s perfect. What he would give to press close and breathe him in.

But why can’t he want more? 

Dean doesn’t wait after Castiel’s jerkin is on the floor, discarding him of his doublet until he’s laid bare before Dean, a flush rising up his chest. 

“Gods, Castiel,” he says, crawling up onto the bed as Castiel moves backwards to make room for him. And suddenly, Dean’s pressed on top of him, lips warm and hands warmer as they tangle in his hair and smooth down his sides and Castiel clenches his toes as he kisses back, arms wrapped around his shoulders as if he’s holding on for dear life.

And he knows he is. 

But if he holds on tight enough, it’ll be over soon. It’ll be--

Dean presses down against him and Castiel gasps at the shock of it – something Dean interprets differently, groaning into his neck where his lips trail now. And Castiel closes his eyes, remembers the beautiful, beautiful man he’s with now – a man both men and women yearn for all over the kingdom.

When Dean lifts his head and glances down at his trousers, saying, “May I?” Castiel forces that same smile.

“Yes,” he whispers, nodding jerkily. 

Dean’s tongue pokes out to wet his lips and he nods back, eyes filled with what can only be lust. And it should make Castiel feel good. Make him feel the same.

Castiel’s breathing is jerky and his hands probably far too tight where they grip Dean’s biceps as he undoes the laces of his pants. And it’s over far too soon, for Dean’s back above him, kissing under his jaw when a hand is suddenly dipping under Castiel’s waistband and the ring on his finger is suddenly tight around his neck, suffocating--

And it’s not enough. 

Dread curls in his chest and Castiel jerks away, hand grasping onto Dean’s to pull it out and away. And he’s mumbling some kind of apology as he shoves Dean back and scrambles off the bed, racing for their bathing chambers. Dean says something behind him but he doesn’t hear it, heart thumping so hard and tears blurring his vision as he closes himself off in the small room and sinks to the floor.

His breathing is rapid, chest heaving and unable to stop and he can’t do this. 

The light knock on the door has the panic rising more and he doesn’t want to go out and face Dean. What if he lashes out? What if he calls off the marriage and Castiel’s left with facing his family as a failure? What if Dean forces himself on him anyway? All because he can’t be normal. 

But the voice that slips through isn’t harsh or demanding. “Castiel?” he says, voice gentle – even the curse followed after isn’t touched by malice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-- Are you alright?”

Castiel doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know how to. It only serves to make him feel worse. Because Dean deserves at least that. The few tears that spilled have dried against his cheeks when he finally stands, making his way over to the door. 

He doesn’t allow himself to ponder any longer, stepping out into their chambers to where Dean is still standing, eyebrows drawn and a loose undershirt covering him now. 

Dean’s eyes sweep over his face, most likely taking in the red rimmed eyes for his face falls as he shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry, Castiel, I didn’t realise--”

“No, you don’t have to apologise. It’s my fault. I can make it up to you, I promise,” he says, tears brimming again as he forces himself to be the brave man he should be.

But Dean only shakes his head, reaching out slowly to lightly take Castiel’s hands in his own.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We don’t have to. We’ve known each other for barely a moment after all. And I should’ve told you that earlier. If you can’t give that to me tonight, it’s okay,” Dean says, eyes soft and yet somehow still bright in the dark.

Castiel’s lower lip trembles, chest tightening as the words fall from his lips. “And what if I can’t ever give that to you?” It comes out as a whisper, too afraid to speak it aloud.

But Dean’s face doesn’t change, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t coil up in disappointment. 

He squeezes Castiel’s hands tight. “Then I will never ask it of you.”

Castiel’s eyes flicker to the floor, a small whimper falling from his lips. “But it’s unfair to you,” he mutters, knowing if his father were here right now, he’d be screaming at him for making a mess of this.

“Castiel, look at me,” Dean says, and his voice is nothing but warm and welcoming. Castiel meets his eyes, on the verge of collapse. “I will never ask it of you. Whatever my husband wishes.”

And his eyes are so determined, as if he could make Castiel believe his words with just one look. And something releases inside of him. The words are slipping from his lips before he can stop himself.

“I wish to go home.” 

The wall inside him crumbles and his shoulders begin to shake as he cries, the emotion of it all finally overwhelming him. Dean’s there to catch him, arms secure around him to hold him steady as he lets it all go. 

How does anyone do this? Be married off into another family, another kingdom, into a stranger’s arms? How does anyone deal with the fear and longing for home?

He wonders if it gets better. If it goes away.

And all the while he ponders, Dean holds him and tells him it will be okay.

He doesn’t listen. Doesn’t believe him.

Little does he know is that one day he will be more than okay. One day he’ll look to the stars and thank the gods for this miserable day. 

**Second Twelve Moons**

Castiel’s foot raps on the ground as he fiddles with the laces on his jerkin. He sighs after a moment, running a frustrated hand through his hair as he stares at himself in the mirror.

“Hey,” Dean says, voice somehow soothing him to his core. How can the sound of one man’s voice be so calming? “Let me.”

Castiel’s shoulders slump as Dean steps in front of him, raising his hands to finish doing his laces. He basks in the attention – in the closeness of the two of them. 

It’s been fourteen moons since they were married, since Castiel has been living in a foreign land. And yet, it feels as though it’s only been a few, the time passing quicker than he had expected it would. Much has changed since that miserable night and surprisingly it’s been for the better.

For not only is Dean the kindest and most generous husband he could have wished for, Castiel has also fallen terribly in love with him. Not right away, of course, but over time. Over fourteen moons he supposes.

It’s embarrassing really. How could he have got this so wrong? Worried that he’d be stuck in a marriage with a cruel husband who would demand whatever he wanted of him and instead he’s stuck in a marriage with a husband he loves but does not love him back – certainly not after knowing Castiel is… Well…is whatever he is. Non-reciprocal in certain areas. Important areas.

How could he have thought anyone could love him the way he wants them to when he is like this? To want to kiss him and hold him close, whisper prayers into his skin and wake to him curled against them every morning without ever asking for more?

Castiel’s startled out of his thoughts when Dean’s thumb comes up to smooth over the crease between his eyebrows. 

“I know you hate balls, but I promise as soon as we’ve stayed as long as we are needed, we can leave,” Dean says, and Castiel realises he’s been frowning. 

But it’s not out of place for he does hate balls. Not that Dean loves them either. And tonight, it will be even worse for with Dean’s father ill, they’ll have to most likely stay longer than usual. Not that they’ll be shouldering the heaviest burden – that of course is for Adam to bear, what with all the talk of how he might be crowned king soon, John Winchester too ill to carry on much longer. A miserable time for everyone. And yet Dean somehow still keeps Castiel’s own minor troubles in mind. 

“A late-night visit to the library before bed, perhaps?”

Castiel sighs as he stares adoringly up at his husband. The laces on his jerkin are perfectly done. 

“How do you put up with me?” Castiel asks, his insecurities slipping out. Dean frowns.

“Put up with you?” He huffs, a soft smile brightening his features. “You’re a pleasure to put up with.”

Castiel rolls his eyes but blushes nonetheless. Dean’s words never cease to affect him. And so, he holds his tongue instead of saying, _but you shouldn’t have to._

“Now,” Dean starts, holding out his arm. “I hear there’s an unfortunate ball we must attend.” Castiel smiles, slipping his arm into Dean’s.

“Better get on, then.”

Dean’s eyes sweep slowly over his face, a strange look in his eye before he swallows, shaking his head as though vanquishing some thought. Then he smiles and leads them on their way. 

✧ ✧ ✧

Every ball is the same. Musicians. Dancing. Wine to drink and food to nibble on. Nobleman and noblewomen approaching one after the other to make small talk with the Winchester family. 

The crown prince takes the brunt of it, always, even when the king still attended them. 

Unfortunately, however, due to Dean being the most charming and dashingly handsome as always, they get approached quite often as well. It’s mostly boring. Chit chat over current events and the state of the kingdom. Gossip over the state of others.

Castiel takes small sips of the wine in his hand as he hovers next to Dean, adding a few hums and words of agreement here and there when all he wants to do is find the rest of the bottle and down it entirely. 

There’s finally a break in conversation, Dean somehow pulling them away for a moment of privacy.

“Do you think if we were to magically disappear that anyone would notice?” Castiel asks, as Dean takes quite the sip of his own wine. 

“Not me but you for sure.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“Well, you are the most handsome person in the room.” 

Castiel flushes, spluttering a little before regaining his composure. “I’m not sure everyone else would agree. Your judgement seems a little biased.”

“Biased?” Dean’s grin is wide and radiant. It’s one of Castiel’s favourite sights. Enough to have him a little breathless. Enough to rival the stars, perhaps. Gods. Even his thoughts are embarrassing. “And why would I be biased?”

Castiel’s lips quirk up despite his resistance and they share a look almost conspiratorial only to be interrupted by a young woman in a bright red dress.

“Apologies for the interruption, Your Highnesses,” she says, curtsying politely. 

“No need to apologise,” Dean greets back, ever so charming. “And what might your name be?”

The young woman blushes, eyes set on Dean – almost as if Castiel isn’t there at all. “Lady Alia of House Terrence.”

Dean nods. “Of course. I see now you resemble your mother quite tremendously. How is she?”

Lady Alia bats her eyes and clasps her hands in something of an act. Castiel can’t stand how terrible most of these people are at selling their facades. “Oh, she’s doing wonderful. Your mother and father were more than generous in helping us after my father passed. But onto brighter topics shall we. In fact, I came in the chance that I may ask for your hand in a dance?”

Castiel almost chokes on air, eyes widening at her words and yet Lady Alia doesn’t spare him a glance. 

Dean chuckles, although it’s somewhat strained. “A lovely offer, Lady Alia. One I would have accepted if you had asked before I was wedded to my beautiful husband,” he says.

Lady Alia’s eyes finally flick over to Castiel and they hold something of disbelief. 

“Well, yes, of course. But if I may be honest, Your Highness, everyone knows that you and your husband are not…” 

Castiel’s cheeks redden at the implication, her eyes flicking pityingly between him and Dean.

Dean stiffens beside him. “Are not what?”

Lady Alia leans forward slightly, lowering her voice as she says, “Are not in a proper married relationship. And I respect that of course,” Her eyes flash to Castiel once more, “but if it’s the case, shouldn’t you be allowed to find pleasure elsewhere, Your Highness?”

Castiel stares at the wine glass in his hand, praying that the floor will swallow him whole before this can get any more humiliating than it already is. 

_Everyone knows_…

“Lady Alia,” Dean starts, voice hard now. “It’s very kind of you to attempt to look out for me and my pleasure but I can assure you that my dear husband and I are in a proper married relationship and it is far more pleasurable than anything you or someone else could give me. So, if you may kindly step aside, that would be most _pleasurable_.” 

Castiel can’t even take triumph in the mortified look on Lady Alia’s face as she stutters out far too many apologies before hurrying off into the crowd.

A hand is light on his lower back. “Cas?” The name slips from Dean’s lips as a whisper. Another thing that has changed over the fourteen summers. From Castiel to Cas – something Castiel himself has quite liked – and another thing he finds soothing much like Dean’s voice.

And yet neither of those things can sooth him now.

“I think that nobleman over there wants to speak with you,” Castiel says, not meeting Dean’s eyes as he points to where a nobleman surely is walking over to them. “I’ll be back in a moment with another drink.” Without anything else, he spins on his heel and walks away, name called once behind him but thankfully Dean doesn’t follow.

He feels awful as he sneaks out of the ballroom, downing the last of his wine in one gulp and placing it on an empty table as he goes, leaving Dean to dally with strangers for however such longer by himself. But he might make more of a fool out of himself than he already apparently has in this castle if he stays any longer.

_Everyone knows._

He doesn’t even think about it, his legs carrying him to the far end of the castle, passing few servants and guards as he goes – many glancing his way but none stepping forward to ask why Dean Winchester’s husband is wandering the halls alone when he should be attending a ball. 

And because of the ball, the library is as empty as it ever will be although it doesn’t stop him from finding the hidden nook he claims as his own – one tucked away on the second floor, towards the back of the large hall. The nook he found on one of the first few nights in this castle when he felt suffocated by all that was his life then. The nook he moons later dragged Dean into when the prince needed a quiet place to breathe. 

Slumping down against the wall, he finally releases a loud curse along with a rough breath. Head in his hands, his mind plays the words on a loop.

_Everyone knows that you and your husband are not…_

He wishes she would have just said it outright instead of dancing around the word. As though it’s something too embarrassing to say aloud. 

But that’s the issue, isn’t it? It is embarrassing. Humiliating. And now he knows that somehow everyone knows. Everyone knows about _him_.

Castiel curses himself, louder this time as the shame curls inside of him. He squeezes his eyes shut, hands gripping his hair now – gripping hard enough for it to hurt. 

Why does he have to be this way? Why can’t he be normal like everyone else?

It weighs on him now as he remembers all the looks he’s been receiving over the past however many moons. The looks _Dean_ has been receiving over the past however many moons. The subtle glances. The subtle pity. 

The men and women alike both eyeing Dean as though he’s still up for contest. 

Perhaps he is. Perhaps he should be. 

If the alliance wasn’t so important Castiel would have parted ways, freeing Dean from himself long ago. If the alliance wasn’t so important he would have never married him. Dean doesn’t deserve this. 

He wonders if Dean even knew what everyone apparently knows about him. About them.

Castiel rests his head against the cold stone behind him, allowing his eyes to slip shut just as a tear slips down his cheek. 

He doesn’t even have the energy to be angry. Or to be miserable. Only empty. A word he’s certain many would use for him. Empty. Devoid of any love to give. 

It’s why he still can’t understand it. For he’s been filled with love since as long as he can remember. And his love for Dean is great – greater than any emotion he’s felt before.

Is this not how other people feel it? 

Perhaps it’s not only one part of him that’s broken. Perhaps it’s all of him.

✧ ✧ ✧

He’s dozing when a light hand on his arm jolts him. 

“Hey, shh, it’s only me,” Dean says, voice lowered as Castiel rubs a hand over his eyes, trying to catch his bearings. 

The library. He’s in the library. 

Oh. Of course.

He flushes, eyes flicking away. “Gods, Dean, I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have--” He’s cut off by Dean taking his hand. 

“You don’t have to apologise. That lady was completely and utterly disrespectful.” 

“I still shouldn’t have left you there by yourself. How long did you have to stay for?” 

Dean’s eyes soften. “It was barely another hour before I made my leave. But you don’t have to worry about that.”

Castiel offers him a grateful smile. How did he end up so lucky? A man many would be with only in their dreams. And yet here he is.

And he has nothing to give in return. 

His smile must have faded for Dean’s eyebrows pull together in concern. 

“What is it?”

Castiel forces another smile. “Nothing. My back is sore from falling asleep here is all.”

Dean’s eyes flick away for a moment as though pondering something before he says, “Is this about what she said? That we’re not in a proper married relationship. Because you know you shouldn’t believe it for a second.”

Castiel shakes his head softly. “But it’s true. We’re not.”

Dean looks taken aback by his words. “Right. Because these rings on our fingers and that rather large ceremony we had that bound us into a marriage certainly didn’t mean anything.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, frustration welling up inside of him as he raises his voice. “You know what I mean, Dean. We’re not fucking and that means _something_.” 

Dean looks away, jaw ticking. Because he’s right. They’re not. They don’t even kiss. At least not on the lips. He pulls his hand away from Castiel’s and suddenly a cold emptiness fills his chest.

He stares at the stone floor wishing he hadn’t said anything. Why did he have to run off in the first place? Why did he have to make something of all this?

“I apologise. I should…” Castiel swallows, not entirely sure what to say. _I wish I could give you what you should have. I wish I wasn’t like this._ “I’m sorry that I’m not the husband I should be. The one you deserve. I…I can perhaps try--”

Dean sighs and when Castiel looks up, he has his head in his hands, shoulders slumped. He doesn’t meet Castiel’s eyes as he speaks. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. I don’t care if other people say it’s not proper or it’s not right.” He looks up then, gazing into Castiel’s eyes as though he’s something special. As though he’s something worthy. 

He raises a hand and lightly brushes Castiel’s hair away from his eyes. 

“You are my husband. And I am yours. And all I want is for you to be happy.”

It’s like a quiet exhalation of his heart. Like falling in love all over again. 

His eyes glimmer with tears as he struggles to find anything to say. 

_What about you? What about your happiness?_

“Dean, I…” But that’s as far as he gets before he’s blinking back the tears, shutting his mouth before a sob or anything else mortifying can escape him.

But Dean understands. Of course he does. 

His hands find Castiel’s once more and the warmth swallows up that cold emptiness like a flame in the wind.

“Let’s get to bed.” It’s all he needs to hear to allow Dean to pull him up and pull him all the way to their chambers.

Not once does Dean let go of his hand. And for now, Castiel has never felt lighter.

**Third Twelve Moons**

The familiar feel of wooden wheels bumping over cobblestones before smoothing out onto flat road alerts him that they’ve arrived at the castle and it won’t be very long before the carriage halts to a stop. Despite the pelt draped around his shoulders Castiel shivers. 

The winters are always cold in their kingdom but as a prince, Castiel has the luxury of bearing through most of it surrounded by warmth from large hearths and the finest quality pelts in the lands. 

Not that he’s ever not felt the cold before but it’s different when three nights are spent barred inside a cold, stone cell with nothing spared for warmth bar the clothes on his back.

At least the bandits had left him alone for the most part. 

He’s back safe now that the ransom was paid in exchange for him but it’s not over. It’s a blow to the kingdom. A humiliating one. Simple bandits shouldn’t be able to just whisk the husband of the second born prince away whilst he’s in the midst of stroll through the streets with one of the lords of a sizeable city within their borders.

Simple bandits shouldn’t even want to try.

But the kingdom isn’t as it once was. King John Winchester passed away peacefully in his sleep not long ago. While they mourned deeply, the family was grateful that he didn’t go in pain. But even though Adam was only crowned a moon cycle ago, he’s struggling to fill his role and take on the stresses of their people and their lands.

And it doesn’t help that Mary is taking the loss harder than the rest, rarely leaving her own chambers. An unaligned front has weakened them and now simple bandits like the ones who captured Castiel think they can do as they wish while the kingdom is still regaining its strength.

Ironically, the higher rates of pillaging and general violence were what Castiel and his company of servants and guards had been sent to Raaken to speak about with Lord Villiers. Not only does he already feel the humiliation deeper since it was he that was captured but this too? 

Castiel pulls the pelt tighter around himself. Thankfully, other than enduring the cold and eating and drinking the little food and water the bandits spared, he’s okay. The bandits had said a few words of intimidation, spitting between the bars of his cell to add to them, but they seemed too focused on orchestrating the hand over to spare much time for taunting or hurting him.

Not that it didn’t have Castiel wide awake and petrified for those long three nights. And it hasn’t seemed to have left him even since the guards safely handed over the gold and escorted him away from the bandits. 

Because he still hasn’t seen Dean yet – who of course wouldn’t have been allowed to come to the exchange. Far too dangerous for both of them to be out in the open. 

So, when the carriage does come to a halt and the door is pulled open – with a force near enough to rip it from its hinges – and Dean’s terrified face comes into view, there’s nothing he can do to stop the tears from falling.

Strong arms are curling around his trembling shoulders in an instant, Dean’s body warm against his own as soothing words are mumbled into his ear. He grasps onto Dean and buries his face under his chin as the wall inside of him breaks. 

He’s not entirely sure of the time that passes but sometime through his tears, Dean has an arm around his shoulders and another under his knees and he’s being lifted into his husband’s arms. He allows himself to be carried, not even opening his eyes until he’s being gently set down on the bench inside their bathing chambers. 

His exhaustion doesn’t allow him to help much but somehow, he’s bathed, cleared for any cuts or bruises by their servants and clothed in some light nightwear before he’s in Dean’s arms again. And quite frankly, he could stay in their warmth forever.

The bed is a welcome reprieve from cold stone despite Dean’s touch and warmth disappearing. His body is too heavy for him to even sit himself up and look as to where Dean’s gone but he is able to hear a quiet murmur of conversation between Dean and someone else before the door is lightly clicked shut.

He lets out a disappointed breath, understanding that Dean would have a lot to attend to now that he’s safe but still wishing, selfishly so, that he would have stayed with Castiel instead. 

So, he startles when the bed dips and opens his eyes to find Dean stripped down to his undergarments and slipping in beside him. He pulls the blankets and pelts up around Castiel’s neck, warm fingers grazing his skin as he does and Castiel’s heart rises in his chest.

And the terror and shock for a moment slips away for all he can focus on is that, _he stayed._

Once satisfied that Castiel is covered enough, Dean pulls his arms back into his chest and Castiel wishes desperately that he would hold him. But he doesn’t say it. Only holds Dean’s eyes as his husband gazes back, guilt tarnishing those beautiful green eyes.

Then, “Oh, Cas,” Dean whispers before his arms are surrounding Castiel in a warm embrace and pulling him flush against him. 

And the exhausted, completely insane part of Castiel’s brain thinks, _it was worth it for this._

Because he’s not that desperate, is he? 

Dean lifts his head slightly, Castiel’s hair brushing against his jaw, before he places a small kiss, light as a feather, on his forehead before settling down again. And Castiel thinks perhaps he is that desperate. The way his heart aches for Dean can’t be denied. 

And he wonders, with exhaustion sweeping over him and forcing his eyes to slip shut, how he went so long without this?

✧ ✧ ✧

The day that follows is slow and impossibly drawn out. He’s taken care of by servants and guards, Adam, Ofelia, Sam and even Mary seeking him out to see that he is well.

It’s Sam that tells him Dean has already sent a troop of guards out with the intention of hunting down the bandits. He wants to make a message out of them as would be expected. It’s merely one step in helping weaken the blow to their kingdom and reinforce order. If successful in capture, Adam, as king, will be the one to deliver the punishment. 

Castiel, personally, just wants all of it to be over. To be forgotten. He still feels shame over being captured and bringing this embarrassment upon the Winchesters and Dean particularly in the first place. 

He excuses himself and heads to retire early – something that is not questioned considering he’s still recovering – only to find Dean hunched over his desk, head in his hands in the study across from their bedroom.

Castiel taps lightly on the open door but there’s no movement. He squints inside the darkening room. 

“Dean?” 

Despite the lightness of his voice, Dean shoots up from his desk, eyes wide and hair pointing in every different direction – and it’s only now that Castiel realises he must have been asleep.

_Odd_, he thinks, just as Dean’s eyes land on him and he slumps in relief. _Unlike Dean to fall asleep in his study. Or early in the evening, for that matter._

“Oh, it’s you.” He rubs a half-hearted hand over his face. “I must have closed my eyes for a second and drifted off,” he says, voice strained and barely meeting Castiel’s eyes.

Castiel frowns, stepping up to his desk. “Is everything alright?”

Dean sniffs, huffing a laugh. “Yes, just tired. Haven’t really slept. Can’t complain, of course. It wasn’t me that was captured by bandits and held for ransom after all.” He smiles, forced and flicks his eyes up to Castiel for a second before they slip away and Castiel’s frown only deepens.

“Dean… Are you okay?” Because he’s never seen Dean this way before. “Has something else happened?”

“You were captured by fucking bandits is what happened!” Castiel’s heart seizes in his chest at Dean’s outburst and for an instant he thinks perhaps he’s done something wrong. But when Dean finally meets his eyes, they’re holding tears. “And the guards told me--” he continues, voice softer now, “They told me you said nothing happened. That they didn’t hurt you…” Now he can see clearly the panic in Dean’s eyes. Dean has really been this worried about him the entire time? “But is that true? Did they hurt you?”

Castiel pauses for a moment, only because he’s thinking upon his latest revelation but Dean’s face falls slightly and Castiel quickly speaks, “No, Dean, no, nothing happened. I wasn’t hurt. In fact, I barely even saw any of them.”

The relief is instant, Dean’s shoulders melting, his head hanging but he doesn’t say anything else. Castiel takes a tentative step forward and when he’s still met with no response, he softly pads his way around the desk until he can see the tears still present in Dean’s eyes. 

He places what he hopes to be a gentle, comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder before he ducks his head to hold Dean’s eyes. 

“Dean,” he says quietly, almost a whisper, “I promise, it’s true. I’m okay.” And he supposes it’s not entirely true. He’s not okay. He’s still in shock and feels like perhaps he could cry in Dean’s arms at any moment but at the end of the day, after all is said and done, he _is_ okay. 

Dean finally appears to believe him for he nods and before Castiel knows it, those strong arms are around him once more, pulling him in close but this time Dean presses his face into the side of Castiel’s own so his breath tickles his skin as he speaks.

“Gods, Cas, I was so afraid they’d hurt you. Afraid I’d never see you again. And I--” he breathes in a harsh breath, voice wobbling now, “I can’t lose you, Cas.” And Castiel’s never heard Dean say something with so much conviction. And for it to be this. For it to be over not losing Castiel. “I _can’t _lose you.”

Castiel’s heart beats wildly, tears blurring his own eyes. And he doesn’t know what to say to encompass all that he’s heard. It overwhelms and he grips tighter to Dean and tells himself that no matter what happens, he won’t ever doubt Dean’s love for him. Even if it isn’t the kind of love he dreams for. 

He hopes Dean hears the conviction in his voice as he says, “You won’t. I promise.”

That night Castiel lies in bed waiting with wonder in his heart. Wonder of if perhaps things will change now. Between them. 

It still comes as a shock when Dean slips in beside him, pausing a few moments, before he pulls Castiel into his chest, curling himself around him. 

His heart yearns a little less and his dreams are as peaceful as they’ve ever been.

Dean doesn’t come to bed with him the next night, trapped in a meeting that has run late. Castiel doesn’t mind, only waits patiently, a smile on his lips.

He lets his eyes slip shut in feigned sleep when he hears his husband finally enter their chambers. It’s a while before he finally feels the dip in the bed but it’s worth all the waiting in the world.

But Dean doesn’t shuffle closer. Doesn’t wrap his warm arms around him. He feels a light graze of fingers brush over his cheek followed by a soft sigh. And then the touch is gone and the bed dips once more as…as Dean turns away.

Castiel opens his eyes to find Dean’s back staring at him. His heart sinks in his chest and he curses himself for being so naive. So hopeful. Nothing will change. 

They will stay the same as they have always been. 

His sleep is restless that night, dreams of Dean’s warmth fading before him. 

**Fourth Twelve Moons**

The day is beautiful. Few clouds dotted in the sky. A slight breeze coming in from the east. The sun warm on Castiel’s skin. Not as warm as Dean is making him from where he sits on the horse behind Castiel, arms around him to clutch the reigns. 

They don’t usually share a horse. But Dean had insisted. It is their anniversary after all. Three fine years of marriage. Well, they’ve had their ups and downs but before that day three years ago Castiel truly couldn’t have imagined going into his fourth year of marriage to some stranger without twisting away in fear. 

Dean steers the horse into the centre of the long, billowing fields that stretch on to the east of the castle where Castiel can now see a large blanket laid out with pillows and flowers and an abundant amount of food already plated up and ready, their servants waiting by off to the side.

It’s perfect. 

Except it’s not. 

Because this – all of this is to celebrate three years of their supposedly wondrous marriage – and while it has been a fine three years how can he say they’re truly married? How can he say this is a _proper _marriage? Not that he’d ever be able to give Dean a proper marriage anyway but he’d be able to at least give something.

He knows what Dean would say. He’d reprimand him for thinking such a way. 

But Castiel can’t help but feel it. Shouldn’t he be able to kiss his husband without question?

He should. And he wants to. How he desperately wants to. 

But Dean doesn’t want him that way. 

If only he’d caved in that night. Given Dean what any husband should have. Then perhaps Dean would have been kissing him good morning every day since. 

But he didn’t give Dean that. And now Dean thinks of them as only friends. As only partners in this life. 

If only he hadn’t fallen so terribly in love. If only, if only, if only.

He hadn’t regretted much in his life before he married Dean. Sometimes, on long nights as he lies in the dark, Dean’s soft snores sounding behind him, he wishes that Dean had been cruel instead. He admonishes himself after. Always. Because of course this is better than having a cruel husband, how could he even begin to wish something like it? 

But he can’t help himself. Dean is by his side nearly every moment of every day and yet the loneliness he feels is startling.

He wonders if Dean feels the same. Because of the lack of sexual intimacy between them. Another thing that keeps him up at night, riddled with guilt.

Castiel sighs. 

The day is beautiful. And he should do his best to enjoy it. 

Dean swings down from the horse first, holding a hand up for Castiel when they finally reach their destination. Castiel gladly accepts it, allowing himself to relish in the way Dean’s hands are solid on his waist and warm in his own as he’s helped down.

A servant is already there to lead it over to where the guards and their horses are milling around a way off.

“Well?” Dean says, hand still in Castiel’s own, the sunlight reflecting off the golden bands on their fingers. “What do you think?”

Castiel doesn’t even bother glancing at what’s laid out before him, instead staring into those sparkling, green eyes. 

“It’s beautiful.”

And despite his own disappointments over their relationship, it is beautiful. 

They could have had a ball, a festival, a party thrown in their name. Most royals do. But Dean nor Castiel have ever liked crowds. Who wants to have to force conversation on their own special day?

Although if he truly had his way, there would be no servants or guards either, just the two of them. But two kings unfortunately, cannot afford such luxury when wandering outside of the castle walls. 

“Good,” Dean says, smiling as bright as the midday sun. “Let’s sit, then.”

A lot has changed in a short three years. They gladly reminisce over all of it. The things that have changed for the better. The things that they’ve lost along the way. 

When John passed quietly in his sleep, it seemed the kingdom couldn’t have been in any worse condition. Even though it had been expected, he was still mourned deeply by the family and people all across their lands alike.

But when Adam and Ofelia had died at sea not too many moons after, the kingdom fell into disarray. A tragedy. And no one they could blame it on. Their ship had left the bay to journey to the western lands for talks with another kingdom.

The sea swallowed them whole. The gods showed no mercy on that day.

Especially since their daughter, barely three years, was left behind with no mother or father to raise her into the Queen she would be someday. A mother and father it was likely she would barely remember. 

Spirit among the people was low, the Winchesters, suddenly only three then, strikingly alone. 

Until Dean stepped up. He would be crowned king of course, Castiel alongside him too, and reign until Adam and Ofelia’s daughter came of age. The duty had seemed near impossible – to raise their kingdom to be as it once was.

But he did. In such short time, the kingdom turned around, learned to hold their heads high and find their joy again. 

Because Dean Winchester was an honourable king. An example to everyone. Castiel of course, can barely hold in his pride for his husband thinking back on all he has done. 

And yet they have many years ahead of them to do more. 

When the sun begins its descent on the horizon, Dean pours them some wine and raises his glass. 

“Here’s to you,” Dean says.

Castiel blinks. “To me?”

Dean smiles. “Yes. For standing by my side through all these years, in times of good and bad and helping me find my way.”

Castiel lowers his eyes, cheeks reddening at Dean’s words. “I wouldn’t say that. I’ve merely stood by while you did all the work.”

“Cas,” Dean starts, the corners of his mouth turning down. “What are you speaking of? Do you not remember all the travel you’ve done, meeting lord after lady, making appearance after appearance at balls and festivals when I was indisposed, all by yourself?” 

Castiel huffs. “It’s not the same as--”

“And let’s not even begin with how gracious you’ve been in putting up with me on long nights with no sleep and meeting after meeting.” His voice softens then. “And of how you held me steady when my kin were taken from me, one after the other.” Fingers under his chin lift his eyes to meet Dean’s own. “Should I go on? Or do I have you convinced?” The tips of his ears feel hot from Dean’s gentle touch and piercing gaze.

“I…” Castiel bites his lip, chest swelling with affection. “I suppose I never thought of it like that.” 

Dean’s lips curve into a smile. “Yes, well, you’ve never been very good at taking a compliment,” he says, with a teasing wink. Castiel huffs, batting Dean’s hands away but smiles nonetheless.

“Fine. To me, then.” Castiel raises his glass to the sky as Dean does the same before downing it in one gulp.

Dean laughs before following suit and drinking his own. “Now, you,” Dean says, leaning over to pour some more wine into both their glasses.

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “Now, what?”

Dean inclines his head towards the glass. “Now you make a toast.”

Castiel smiles. “Okay. To you,” he says but Dean laughs, shaking his head.

“No, I’ve had enough toasts for me to last a lifetime. To something else.”

And the words come so quickly, so naturally that he can’t stop himself.

“To us.” Dean holds his gaze a moment, something he can’t quite catch flashing across those sparkling, green eyes before nodding and raising his glass.

“To us,” Dean says, but Castiel’s chest is pulled tight all of a sudden and he knows that if he doesn’t say anything now, he won’t find another moment of courage. 

Dean’s raising the glass to his lips when Castiel’s hand shoots out and he only intends to lower the glass but instead knocks it out of Dean’s hands where it spills all over Dean’s trousers and onto the lavish rug below. 

There’s a litany of curses from the both of them – from Castiel as he scrambles over Dean’s lap to grab a cloth to wipe the mess with – and from Dean as he plucks the glass from spilling anymore and most likely wonders what just happened.

“I’m so sorry, Gods, I’m so sorry,” Castiel mumbles, as he dabs away at Dean’s ruined trousers because of course he couldn’t just indulge Dean and have their time together run smoothly. Of course, he had to ruin it somehow, like always. 

But Dean only grabs his wrist to still him and smiles as he says, “It’s okay, Cas. It’s only some wine. I’ll have the servants stitch me a new pair.”

And sometimes Castiel wants to yell at Dean to stop being so kind and perfect because it only serves to make him feel most incompetent within every moment of the man’s presence. 

Castiel slumps back down beside Dean, free hand reaching up to run down over his face. Dean’s fingers brush over the inside of his wrist, eyes narrowed and amusement clear when Castiel meets his eyes again.

“May I ask what that was all about?” he says and Castiel swallows, wanting desperately to sink into the earth. 

Despite the commotion, both servants and guards are still far enough away that Castiel can speak freely. 

If he can put it into words.

“Dean, I…I just wanted to say…” 

_I’m in love with you._

_I want to kiss you._

_I want you to kiss me._

_Without asking for anything more._

Dean’s eyes are soft and open. But Castiel’s never seen any longing in them. Not like the longing in his own eyes. In his own heart.

And the courage is gone before he can grasp it.

“I just think you sell yourself short. You’ve done so much for this kingdom and I know you’re sick of toasts but I’m your husband so you have to take a toast from me, so, to you,” Castiel says, short of breath now as he gulps down his own glass that he placed safely out of the way before realising he hasn’t even poured Dean a new one.

A flush rises up his neck and he curses himself for…well, for all of it. For not having the courage to speak his truth and now for embarrassing himself in front of Dean so miserably.

It couldn’t get worse until Dean ducks his head to catch Castiel’s eyes and asks, “Are you okay?” His fingers are still tauntingly brushing up and down the inside of his wrist. 

Castiel lets out a deep exhale. “No. I mean, yes, I mean…” He pauses, letting his eyes slip closed for a moment before he tries again. “I’ve ruined this, haven’t I?”

Dean sighs in relief, a smile lighting up his face once more as he shakes his head and lifts his hand to cradle Castiel’s cheek. 

“No, you haven’t. It’s only wine, Cas. And I couldn’t care less about some trousers, only that you’re here with me. So, why don’t we try again?” Dean pours them both another glass of wine, although a considerably less amount for Castiel – something that amuses Dean – before they raise their glasses together.

“To us,” Dean says and Castiel sighs, feeling any last courage slip from his fingers.

“To us,” he says back, mustering up the warmest smile he can as his heart sinks in his chest. He looks out into the billowing fields in front of them – into the perfect day – not able to meet Dean’s eye.

He doesn’t see the longing in those green eyes where they caress the side of his face in the midday sun.

✧ ✧ ✧

Even though it was their anniversary, Dean was still whisked away last night and despite him apologising over and over when he’d finally stumbled into bed, his eyes were struggling to stay open so Castiel had only hushed him and allowed him to fall into a deep slumber without any further conversation.

Even now as a servant passes on to a half-dressed Castiel that Dean has a meeting soon, he ushers the man away and tells him the king will be there when he will be there. Dean deserves every moment of sleep he can get. 

He only slips out for a moment or two, to ask a servant if they can have breakfast brought to their rooms this morning like they do whenever they have spare time to eat together. Though their anniversary is over, he can’t help but want to let Dean have a nice relaxing morning to thank him for all he did yesterday.

When he slips back inside their chambers, however, Dean’s already up and riffling through his closet, throwing clothes on haphazardly.

“Dean--”

“Gods, Cas,” Dean interrupts him, glancing over his shoulder, the space between his brows creased. “I know you have other things to attend to but if you could just get a word out that--”

“_Dean_.” Castiel lays a solid hand on Dean’s shoulder, turning him to face him before he bats Dean’s hands away from where they’re fumbling with the laces of his jacket. “You don’t have to worry about your meeting. I’ve gotten word out that you will come when you are ready.” He takes the laces in his own hands and begins to do them up properly as Dean watches on, mouth parted and chest heaving from exertion. Castiel smiles at the stunned look in Dean’s eye. “You are king after all. And you deserve a nice--"

Lips are on his own before he can even understand what is going on, his hands caught in between him and the body that presses against him and--

He steps back, pulling himself away in shock.

Gods. Oh, gods.

Dean kissed him. Dean _kissed_ him.

And his heart swells in his chest, a blush striking up to the tips of his ears and gods--

“Fuck, Cas, I’m so sorry, _fuck_, I didn’t mean to,” Dean rambles, face white as he steps backwards. Because Castiel pulled away and now Dean must think he was repulsed but he was only surprised, only in awe, only--

Castiel doesn’t think anymore. Only does when he steps forward into Dean’s personal space, cradles his face between the palms of his hands and kisses him. 

And it takes Dean a moment before his hands, hesitant and gentle come to rest at the dip of his back pulling him ever closer before he kisses him back. 

And Dean’s lips are soft and his hands are warm and he knows that he’d kiss Dean some more if he was allowed.

But he doesn’t have to think it because finally, out of breath, Dean pulls away, eyes wide and lips parted. Castiel’s hands slip down to rest on his shoulders as his heart hammers inside of him.

“Cas,” Dean breathes, as he shakes his head slowly, “I thought…”

Castiel swallows. And like a ship sailing back in to the shore, his courage finds its voice. “You thought right. I can’t promise you anything else and I’m sorry for that, I always will be but if you’d have me I can give you these,” he says, grabbing Dean’s hand and raising it to rest on his lips. Dean’s breath catches in his throat and his eyes behold him as if he were the stars themselves. “And I can hold you close and not let go until you want me to. And if you need to find pleasure with someone else, I will be okay with that as long as you come back to me and--”

Castiel clutches onto Dean’s shoulder with one hand, gripping Dean’s own tight with the other as lips find his own again. 

And it’s everything he’s ever wanted and yet all he can think is a soft, startled, _Oh_. 

When Dean pulls away for a second time, he brushes the hair from Castiel’s forehead, a gentle, wondrous look in his eye.

“I don’t need to find pleasure with someone else, Cas. You are my pleasure. Every day that I wake to you in bed beside me, every time that you laugh or smile or I gaze into those eyes.” Dean’s smiling now, his eyes bright but Castiel’s are blurry and suddenly Dean’s swiping a thumb over his cheek to remove a tear that has fallen. Because he doesn’t understand. And yet, Dean’s not done.

“Every time you tell me everything’s going to be okay or brush the hair from my face when you think I’m still sleeping.” Castiel flushes to which Dean laughs, warm and low and beautiful. “Every time…” Dean trails off, almost as if he’s lost for words, “Every _moment_ I am with you is my pleasure.”

Castiel’s chest squeezes tight as he wipes the tears from his eyes only to see the wetness of Dean’s own. 

“So, don’t ever apologise because you right here with me, are all I’ve ever needed. And if you were to give me these,” Dean raises his fingers to brush Castiel’s lips, “And to let me hold you close and not let go until you want me to,” Dean smiles, and the sun is but a speck to his light, “then I think perhaps I would be the luckiest man in all of the lands.”

And Castiel’s not sure how to respond, only to hold Dean’s hand and brush a kiss over his palm. Because he never thought he’d feel anything like this. Like all the sun’s warmth is bursting inside of him.

And because he can’t help himself, “Did the gods conspire to create a soul so beautiful?” Dean’s smile is accompanied with a blush, his eyes falling to the floor before finding his gaze again. 

“So…” Dean begins, pulling him closer by the waist, throat bobbing. “Does this mean I have you?” The breath he releases feels as though it’s been pent up for years. 

Castiel rests his forehead against Dean’s own. “You’ve always had me. Since you first held me and told me I’d be okay. I think my soul knew. That I would be more than.”

Dean brushes his fingers over Castiel’s cheek, breath warm on his lips. “Well, I think perhaps,” he whispers, breathes, “that my soul gave itself away to you a long time ago.” 

**Fifth Twelve Moons**

His fingers are deft as they pull the last of the laces through, tying them off before brushing a hand down over his jerkin. He’d turned the servants away when they had presented themselves, wanting this moment to be his and his alone. 

As he lets his hands fall to his sides, the mirror reflects back a man, impeccably dressed, not a crease in sight, with his head held high, blue eyes bright and proud. 

Only one more thing. 

He’s careful – he’s always careful – as he takes the crown between his fingers and places it atop his head. 

He gazes into the mirror once more.

A king.

A _worthy_ king.

It’s taken him years to admit to himself that he is. Worthy. That he has been all along. 

There’s an abrupt knock on the door and for a moment he’s transported back, to all those years ago, where he stood in another room, in the same castle, his fingers trembling. Terrified. 

But he’s not terrified anymore. 

The door nudges open and Dean pokes his head in before smiling and letting himself inside. He doesn’t say anything and at first, he doesn’t step further forward, gazing up the length of Castiel as Castiel does the same to him. 

Two crowns. Two kings. 

Dean finally moves forward, reaching out and grasping Castiel’s hand in his. “You ready?” Castiel raises Dean’s hand to his lips, pressing a light kiss there before he nods.

“Ready.”

Dean leads him up the grand stairs and out onto the balcony where they’re met by Mary and the little future queen Elaine, standing to one side, Sam and his new bride, Jessica – hands settled over her round belly – to the other, and to the cheers and screams of the people down below. 

Castiel will never get used to the sight. Their city vibrant with colour in the distance, exuding warmth at every corner, people spread all throughout the fields surrounding the castle smiling and laughing – happy, finally after years of anguish and uncertainty. And here today to celebrate their kingdom. Under the twinkling stars of night.

Dean doesn’t let his hand go as he raises the other in the air and one by one the screams and cheers die – everyone eager to hear King Dean Winchester speak.

And when he does, his voice seems to carry for miles, clear and confident, the voice of a king.

He speaks of how far they’ve come, of the past and the challenges they’ve faced. And as he does, Castiel finds himself remembering too. For it’s not only their kingdom that has gone through changes in the past year, but Dean and Castiel too.

He remembers that morning they’d kissed. Not for the first time – their wedding day stealing that away from them – but for the first time it mattered.

That morning Dean and Castiel spilled their souls and all their secrets to each other. That morning Dean told him he loved him. That he’d loved him for a long, long time. But that he wasn’t sure Castiel felt the same way, that first night a constant reminder in his head to not push himself onto Castiel in a way he might not want. He’d spoken of all the times he’d held himself back, all the times he’d ached to hold him close and kiss him so.

Castiel had laughed – laughed and cried. For how could he be so blind? Was his love for Dean not obvious? And with a stain of red across his cheeks he’d told Dean of all he’d felt, of how long he’d ached and loved and watched all from afar. Of how much he’d dreamed of a moment like this. 

Dean had laughed and cried too and that night they had curled around each other in bed, speaking in whispers, spilling all their truths until dawn broke. And yet, sleep deprived and empty of tears left to shed, he had never felt a happiness like it. Never felt so whole.

Never felt so worthy of this life. 

And he didn’t have to change. Didn’t have to force himself to be different. He was worthy as himself. Worthy as he always had been.

Worthy of the man beside him, eyes bright and passionate as thousands of people sprawled out below hang onto his every word, fires lit all around them for all to see the king – the kings – that helped pave the way to the kingdom’s present moment.

“And tonight, we toast!” Dean’s voice booms, and the people cheer and whistle below, all that hold drinks, raising them to the sky. But Dean hesitates and the hand in Castiel’s own, squeezes his tighter. “To the kingdom we’ve built together!”

Cheers and screams erupt once more, musicians taking up their instruments and bonfires being lit to begin the celebration.

But Dean’s not finished as he turns to Castiel, eyes bright and focused as if he’s the only thing Dean can see. 

“But more importantly,” Dean says, quiet and only for the two of them. “To what we’ve built for ourselves.” And then one hand is on his cheek, another on his waist and he’s being pulled into a kiss.

The people cheer louder than before but neither king pays them mind. Castiel’s heart pounds in his chest, as loud and free as ever as he kisses Dean back.

And he’s okay. _More_ than okay. And tonight, after the people have wandered home and the bonfires have died out, he’ll look to the stars and thank the gods for that miserable day, all those years ago.

**Author's Note:**

> Reblog it [here](https://angvlicmish.tumblr.com/post/187418033746/what-weve-built-for-ourselves-115k-ao3) on my tumblr!
> 
> Comment below or leave some kudos if you enjoyed! Thanks so much for reading ♥


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